The Good Corellian
by Arlome
Summary: On the way to Ord Mantell, Leia feels restless and on edge. Han proposes some rather unorthodox relaxation techniques. Set just before ESB, slight AU.


Disclaimer: I owe nothing, of course. If I did, no one would die in a very stupid way, or have an emo kid that turns to the dark side because he felt neglected.

A/N: Oh well…so this is what I'm doing instead of writing the stratigraphy chapter of the Byzantine period in the Lower City of Jerusalem (Trust me, I'm an Archaeologist….). My boss will probably shoot me if she finds out…

So…this is pretty much smut. Also, this is as AU as it gets for me, but I just had to write it…

You know what? I have no excuse….sorry!

Hope you enjoy it!

The Good Corellian

Hoth is a miserable Ice cube.

Echo Base, with all its freezing passageways and the pristine, depressing whiteness of its frosty walls, is on the sure path of becoming just as wretched. It is, therefore, no small wonder that when Leia Organa is finally approached by High Command- after weeks of being dirtside- about a highly sensitive mission, she accepts command immediately without even asking for details.

Two days later she finds herself aboard the _Millennium Falcon_ en route to Ord Mantell, accompanied by one farm boy, one walking carpet and one mercenary smuggler.

The journey to the rather backwater planet is to take six days; providing that their hyperdrive doesn't fail them. Leia is skeptical, to say the least, but Han Solo has faith in his ship and, against all the odds, they do jump to hyperspace without a single problem. The first two days of their voyage pass without any incident, but Leia is restless. She can't explain the unceasing tension in her chest, doesn't understand the nauseating stress that warms her belly, as if a hoard of wasp-worms decided to suddenly inhabit her innards. Something feels _wrong_ , but Leia can't put her finger on it. A sense of foreboding tries to wrestle her into realization, but she can't decipher the feeling; instead, she's wound up like a spring, tense and uneasy.

The maddening sense of restlessness causes Leia to snap at the rest of the party. She barks at Han for forgetting to add more bandages to the rather primitive medical kit, yells at Chewie for getting in her way when he tries to exit the 'fresher, and even raises her voice at _Luke_ when the kid asks her whether something's wrong.

After a particularly spectacular display of the Princess' wrath from which Luke walks away sulking, Han turns to her and frowns disapprovingly.

"Not cool, Highness," he says, staring her down, "this- whatever it is – has got to stop; you've been barking at all of us since before we even took off. What gives?"

Ashamed at being admonished by the Corellian, Leia flushes angrily.

"Maybe I'm just tired of your collective incompetence, _Captain_ ," she hisses and flees into the crew quarters before Han has the chance to retaliate.

She manages to avoid the rest of her team for a few hours by lying in her bunk and burying her nose in a datapad until Han calls her to dinner and she is forced to join the Pouting Three in the main hold.

Dinner is a quiet, uneasy affair and Leia can't wait for it to be over. Han tries to make small talk and fails magnificently when even Luke- incredibly optimistic and loyal to a fault, _darling_ _Luke_ \- refuses to participate in the half-attempt at a civilized conversation. At last, Chewie rises to head for his shift at the cockpit, and Leia breathes an internal sigh of relief; but when she tries to leave as well, Han stops her.

"Not so fast, Your Worship," he warns her with a stern look, "I've just about had it with your foul mood. Something must be done about it."

Before any of the other rather uncomfortable dinner participants can react, he reaches under the table, pulls a bottle and three glasses and places them in front of Luke and Leia.

"Corellian whiskey," he explains as he pours three shots, "now we are all going to have a few drinks and kriffing _relax_."

Neither Luke nor Leia protests much as they down their respective drinks and, soon enough, it's round five, and the main hold is beginning to look slightly out of focus. Han sits at the console, Luke is slumped over the table, and Leia feels it's high time she stops being such a bitch.

"Listen, you two moonjockies; I'm sorry I yelled at you." She mutters lamely and catches Han smiling into his drink. Luke fixes his unfocused eyes on her and pouts.

"W-why d'you ever do that, Leia?" He sighs drunkenly, "you know how much we care for you."

Shame and regret threaten to suffocate her as she nods.

"I know," she says quietly, her eyes clouding, "I am very sorry…I just feel so _off_! Restless - as if something's going to happen. I just have a bad feeling about this mission."

Luke reaches out to pat her hand, misses it completely, and tries again. He finally manages to achieve his goal on the fourth try.

"Tha-that's what we're here f-for," he mutters and rests his head on the table, closing his eyes, "just talk to us."

Leia's eyes linger at the corridor that leads to the cockpit, and her heart clenches at the recollection of how she yelled at Chewie; _Chewie_ , of all beings. _Luke's right_ , she thinks with certainty; these three idiots are her friends – perhaps the greatest friends she's ever had; definitely, the most loyal – and she just ran them down for the past two days, for no other reason than being _restless_. Ashamed beyond the measure of words, Leia turns to thank Luke, to tell him she knows that she can count on them, and to apologize again when a soft snore catches her attention. Startled, and a little amused, she glances at the aspiring Jedi, his mouth agape with a dribble of drool running down his chin. Han snorts and Leia's attention is suddenly drawn to him instead. The captain sits low in his seat, feet propped on the console, and his fifth shot of Corellian whiskey still full in his hand.

"Never had much tolerance for the poison, this one," he says and inclines his head towards Luke. Then his eyes turn to hers, and a shock she definitely attributes to excessive alcohol consumption rattles her entire body; Han studies her unabashedly, "I see _your_ tolerance is definitely up to snuff."

Leia shrugs in a would be nonchalant kind of manner, trying to downplay the effect of Han's look on her. He smirks again, places his untouched glass on the console, gets up from the seat and _stretches_ ; his shirt, untucked as it is, rides up his abdomen and gives the flustered princess a little peak at a sliver of tantalizing skin. Leia gulps and looks away hurriedly.

Han reaches Luke and Leia scoots out of his way, her leg brushing against the smuggler's thigh in the process. Han looks down at her and winks.

"Careful, Highness," he smiles that maddening smile of his, "I bruise easily."

Leia blushes fiercely, but Han's already otherwise occupied, pulling a groaning Luke to his feet, and doesn't even notice her inner turmoil.

"Come on, buddy," he's murmuring in the younger man's ear, "up you get."

Luke is leaning heavily on Han's shoulder, moaning in his drunken half-awareness.

"H-Han?" he mutters, his head lulling to the side and eyes blinking tiredly in the harsh, artificial light of the main hold, "W-wha-…are we there yet?"

Han shakes his head and smiles, thumping Luke lightly on the ribs.

"Not yet, Kid; you're just a little drunk," he says and nudges the other man with his hip, "come, I'll help you to bed; you just need to sleep it off."

With dawning realization, Leia understands that Han intends to help Luke into the bunk directly above the Hologame table; meaning that, in all likelihood, Luke is probably too intoxicated to walk all the way to the crew quarters and that Han is more than a little drunk himself to attempt to carry him there. She watches in guilty amusement as the Corellian struggles to push the would-be Jedi upwards, his hands firmly planted into Luke's shoulder blades and knees braced against the banquette.

"Kriffing Hell!" Han curses and grunts under the weight of the drunken young man, "oof, you weigh a ton! What have _you_ been eating?"

Luke is beyond answering coherently, but he does manage to roll himself somehow into the alcove and face the wall; soft snores breach the silence almost immediately. Han collapses tiredly into the chair he occupied not ten minutes ago and downs the still full shot of whiskey left orphaned on the console. Leia slides back into her seat and leans her head against the back of the banquette, finally resigning herself to the fact that she might be just a tad tipsier than she'd like to admit. They sit in silence for a few long moments when Han suddenly swivels in his chair to face her with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"You know, Highness; there is another way to relieve stress besides drinking." And in a total contradiction of his words, he pours himself yet another drink. Leia marvels, not for the first time, at the unwavering capacity of his liver to take in such an amount of spirits. She turns to regard him suspiciously.

"And what is that, Captain?"

Han smiles that damn half-smile of his and raises his glass in salute.

"Have an orgasm," he intones and smirks into his drink when Leia's eyes grow wide at the obvious suggestion behind this remark.

So, it's back to merciless teasing; is it?

One of Han's favorite pastime activities is ruthlessly taunting Leia in all that concerns intimacy and sexuality. As if sniffing out her disadvantage in this particular field, he does everything in his power to make her uneasy; to bring her down a notch, get a rise out of her, and unveil her humanity. He drags her off her pedestal, using shameless flirting and ill-disguised, half-arsed seduction maneuvers; never being quite serious about the whole ordeal. But Leia gives as good as she gets; kicking and screaming, she gives him a hard run for his credits, and does not go down without a spectacular fight.

So, knowing the routine, she recovers quickly and looks him straight in the face. Her voice is deceptively neutral as she regards him, slightly exasperated.

"And I suppose that you're a willing donor?"

Han shrugs and winks and Leia feels the distinctive heat, so rightfully associated with too much alcohol and unresolved sexual tension, slowly burning through her skin.

"Sure, I'll…lend a helping hand, so to speak," his voice drops beguilingly as he leers, "I'm a giving person; anything for a friend in need."

Leia's heart decides to do the Kessel Run in 12 parsecs at what Han says; she can't quite believe the direction this conversation seems to be taking.

"'A friend in need,' really," she drawls, and only the vigorous training she underwent in the Senate allows her to hide the emotional hurly burly she's experiencing at this little chat, "In that case, will you offer Luke the same help if _he_ was feeling tense?"

Han looks straight at her and his eyes glimmer with sinful mischief as he smiles at her.

"If he wishes," he purrs, and Leia can suddenly envision the ridiculously erotic image of Han and Luke in a passionate embrace. She presses her thighs together, abruptly feeling incredibly sweaty and hot, but Han raises his eyebrows and looks away, "Though I doubt Luke will need my help."

"What do you mean?" Curious, she asks despite herself.

"Well, you see, Highness," Han begins in a mock- instructing tone, "Luke is a man; and as such, he won't have any problem darting into a dark corner of the ship and taking care of business, so to speak – if the need ever arises. Whereas you, princess, will probably refrain from taking this kind of action on a ship full of men; you'll most likely find it dirty, shameful, even degrading - _unless_ …" and here he looks up at her again and his eyes are burning as his teeth are digging into his lower lip, "- _unless_ , I'm reading you all wrong, and when the rest of us are sleeping, you sneak into the 'fresher to take care of yourself; no help needed…"

A couple of months back, when they just moved to Echo Base, Leia happened to be sitting in the mess hall at dinner behind some of the female personal, when Han sauntered by to sit with the Rogues. It was right after one of their famous fights and Leia was beyond fuming, so it took some time to register that the talk behind her involved the impossible Corellian.

"There goes pure sex…" sighed one of the women into her tepid soup, "I would have loved to peel that man's pants off using nothing but my teeth."

"A couple of months ago you could have done so," said another dejectedly, "but he's no longer interested in anyone, and everybody knows why…"

Leia didn't get to hear the rest of the conversation because General Reeiken joined her at the table and demanded her attention; besides, back then she couldn't admit to seeing what the big appeal was. But now, sitting in front of him and seeing him like this; agile, slick – almost feline, in fact; it makes her realize that the women were right.

 _There goes pure sex._

And Leia, emboldened by a hefty dose of liquid courage, decides to take the plunge.

"Alright," she says, and her lips quirk in satisfaction when she notices how momentarily astonished he appears.

A pause of astounded silence, and then, softly - " _What_?"

"I said, 'alright'; problem with your ears, Captain?"

Han's eyebrows rise into his hairline, and he blinks at her rapidly- almost comically- a couple of times.

" _You're_ gonna let _me_ make you come?"

Leia blushes at the crude, but nonetheless sexy, turn of his words; she juts out her chin and arches an eyebrow to mask how his words, his tone, and his looks are affecting her.

"Unless you don't think you can do it?"

Han's eyes grow wide in affront and then narrow.

"You bet I can, sister!" he bristles, his pride obviously hurt, as he leans in her direction, "you won't have any complaints."

"We'll see," she smirks and looks around, suddenly business-like, "so, where do you propose to do it?"

He appears momentarily taken aback again by her cavalier approach to the discussion of their forthcoming sexual escapade, but almost immediately the predatory glint in his eyes is back as he looks at her and then at the Hologame table.

 _'He's trying to shock me,'_ she finds herself thinking; ' _perhaps he's_ hoping _I'll refuse him_.'

"Hop on the table, sweetheart; and I'll do it right here."

Properly affected by the lewd proposition, Leia blushes fiercely and shakes her head.

"No way," she hisses, angry at herself for visibly reacting to the Smuggler's jibe, "not with Luke sleeping up above!"

Han shrugs and smiles smugly for getting a rise out of Leia.

"Alright," he concedes placatingly, "where did _you_ have in mind?"

Her eyes sweep the interior of the ship that is visible to her before they find their mark. She cocks her head in that direction, beckoning Han's gaze to follow hers.

"The Crew Quarters; they're empty now."

He unfolds himself from his seat at the console and rises to his feet with surprising agility for an inebriated man. With a flourish of his hand towards the direction of the cabin, he bows slightly and inclines his head in her direction, as if to say, _ladies first_. Not willing to be outsmarted at this game, Leia gets up with as much regal snobbism she's able to muster and, thrusting her nose up in the air, makes her way to the quarters, Han's amused chuckle following her there.

Once inside, she turns around and almost collides with the captain's chest. He is much closer than she presumed and his entirely too vibrant presence suddenly dwarfs the room, making it a bit difficult to breathe. His hot hands settle on her waist, and he starts guiding her backward, in the direction of the bunk – _his bunk_ \- that's closest to the door. With a nervous jolt that threatens to unsettle her stomach, Leia frantically starts pondering the wisdom of her decision and her common sense.

"I'm not sleeping with you, Han," she blurts out a bit too breathlessly for her liking, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. The damn Corellian smirks and pulls her a bit closer to himself, so her forehead softly bumps into his chin.

"Relax, Princess," he murmurs, and Leia can hear the smile in his voice, "your good name is safe for tonight."

She flushes scarlet at what he's implying and squeaks in indignation, when the back of her shins hit something, and she can just make out the slight pressure of Han's hands on her hips, guiding her into a sitting position. She settles down dazedly and then gasps in surprise as she feels Han pulling her towards him, propping her bottom on the edge of the bunk. He falls to his knees before her, parting her thighs with his hands and slides between them; pushing them further apart with his hips. Leia can feel the hard muscles of his lower abdomen against her center, and the muscles of her inner thighs clench reflexively; Han notices the slight press of her legs against his hips and bites down on a smile. They are face to face now, eyes at the same level; their gazes lock and the emerald glow of his orbs seems to have an almost hypnotic effect on her psyche.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks, breaking the silence, and Leia is strangely touched that he _asks_ instead of _acts_ ; that he endeavors to request, rather than simply take. She nods slowly, and Han leans in, closing the distance between them.

Leia is surprised by how soft and warm his lips are, as they gently press against her own. She's always expected his kisses to be completely deferent- hard and deep- so this soft touch of mouths, warm and dry, almost stuns her. With a jolt of excitement, Leia can feel the light, nearly hesitant pressure of Han's tongue against her lower lip and, realizing that- _this is it_ , she parts her mouth and offers him sanctuary. The hot, rather odd but pleasant sensation of having someone else's tongue inside her mouth, allows Leia to feel more keenly. Han's hands rise to cradle her face, the thumbs gently caressing her cheeks, and the gesture is uncharacteristically tender. Her heart flutters at the soft motion of his fingers across her skin, at the sighs against her mouth, at the way his firm body is pressed against her own; as if they are made of molded clay, designed to be shaped into lovers.

Her hands lie motionless in her lap, trapped between two heated bodies; their owner too timid at the moment to employ them in any way. But, as the kissing drags on and becomes more passionate and intense, Leia discovers courage and slowly moves to fist her fingers in the hair at Han's nape.

He moans into her mouth appreciatively, and one of his hands slips from her face to sneak under her shirt and tug at the bindings around her chest. Han's nimble digits make quick work of the soft material, and once it's unraveled, his large, warm hand cups her left breast; the callused fingers brushing over the nipple, making her shiver.

Han moves to kiss Leia's neck fervently and she grips at his shoulders tightly, too wound-up to move; her pulse drumming loudly in her ears. The feel of his touch against her skin is inflaming and thrilling, and suddenly she can't recall why she's ever been fighting this- _whatever this is_ \- for so long.

"Can I go down on you?" Han whispers hotly and bites softly on her earlobe. A strangled whimper escapes Leia's lips.

The Princess may still be a virgin at the not-so-tender-anymore age of 22, but she's very far from being innocent. The mechanics of sex, though not experienced personally, are nonetheless known to her, and she definitely has the knowledge of certain terms and their meanings. She understands, in her feverish, intoxicated, but still very structured mind, that Han's offering cunnilingus and a spark of heat ignites right _there_ , below; at the spot where the captain's lower abdomen is pressed against her. Firm. _Hard_.

But this- right here, right now - is as intimate as she's ever been with a man, so her throat tightens around the air she inhales and Leia wonders anxiously, _'What if he expects me to do the same to him…?_ '

"Er…" she falters untypically, blushing bright red as his lips climb to her jaw.

"You'll like it, sweetheart," he implores against her skin, and there's no snark in the nickname, only endearment, "I'm _very_ good at this." His lips reach her mouth and anchor there for a few moments, then continue to the left side of her face. His breath is hot against her cheek when he murmurs," Trust me."

He shifts his hips to better accommodate himself between her legs, and she can suddenly feel the unmistaken evidence of his own arousal pressed against her inner thigh. The shocking, unbidden thought that if she only angles her pelvis _slightly_ to the right, she'd end up being pressed tightly against _it_ , is both thrilling and startling.

 _'Am I going too far with this?'_ she thinks hazily, but then she _does_ angle her hips _just so_ , and the pressure is delightful, and Han's desperate gasp in her ear-

"Alright," she whispers and turns her head to him so that her lips are buried in his light brown mane, "You may."

"Her Highness is too kind," is mumbled amusedly somewhere in the vicinity of her temple and a flash of a satisfied lopsided smile is all Leia sees before Han's head disappears from sight. Now at her feet, he unfastens her pants and yanks them down, with a slight shift of Leia's hips, until they pool gracelessly around her ankles.

A firm nudge of his hand, the feel of his shoulders against her naked skin, and the brush of his nose against-

She gasps audibly and her hips jerk at the alien feel of Han's tongue on her center. Craving more contact and better access, he pulls her closer to his mouth and moans appreciatively against her flesh, making Leia blush fiercely. He treats her body like a ravenous man who skipped far too many meals; almost devouring her in his passion. She gapes, and gasps and pants; half-strangled moans and mangled sounds climbing out of her throat as his wicked mouth threatens to drive her to oblivion.

No doubt encouraged by Leia's breathless cries, Han decides to up his game and slides one of his incredibly long, slightly callused fingers inside her body; making Leia tense and hiss in discomfort when said finger accidentally nudges that useless, highly overrated piece of membrane that represents her innocence. His apologies are muttered and kissed gently against her flesh, and his finger rights its course and slips more easily into her depth. Leia tries to enjoy the delicious ache that blooms at the spot that benefits most from Han's attentions, but truth be told, she's too embarrassed to relax. She knows that Han probably always suspected that she was quite _inexperienced_ in this particular department, but to have the suspicions confirmed in such a way, at such a time, is just too _humiliating_. She bites her lip, the exquisite build-up to what should have been a mind-blowing orgasm faltering, and blinks away the unwanted tears. Somehow sensing her distress, Han backs away and kisses his way up her torso, past her shirt- covered breasts and collarbone, all the way to her heated cheek where he plants a sweet, wet kiss. His finger is still inside her; setting a steady, unyielding rhythm, determined to bring Leia to pleasure. He doesn't mind that she's never known a man before, this much is clear, and the fact that he doesn't even consider to acknowledge her inexperience is strangely heartening; Leia begins to relax again.

Han moves to look at her, and his face is so close that she can practically _feel_ his words when he speaks.

"Leia," he breathes against her lips, his mouth sinfully slick, " _Leia_ … " He finally kisses her, and she can taste herself on his lips and tongue, "I can't believe you're letting me do this to you…"

"Me neither…" she whispers back and feels him smiling. After a moment's hesitation, she stutters, "d-don't tell anyone…"

The movement of his finger falters as he laughs; his breath warm against her cheek.

"And sway the betting pools in Hobbie's favor?" he kisses the side of her mouth, "Never!"

He plants another lingering kiss directly on her lips before he pulls back and just _looks_ at her; his beautiful hazel eyes lidded sensually and his finger still hard at work. A steady tightening in her lower abdomen makes Leia gasp and bite her lower lip, and Han's mouth opens a bit at the gesture. His eyes grow wide for a fracture of a moment, and he mutters _'fuck'_ under his labored breath. His left hand that rests on Leia's thigh slides upwards and towards -

The growing tightness reaches a boiling point, and Leia realizes, in utter mortification, that she's going to climax in front of Han – with him _watching_ her – and perhaps die of embarrassment in the process.

"Han, s-stop!" she gasps and grabs his left wrist.

Han's eyes widen in alarm.

"What, Leia?" he asks, immediately withdrawing both hands, and frowning at her, "Did – did I hurt you?"

Leia blushes and shakes her head, unable to actually voice her answer. Han's eyes soften in relief, and he smiles coaxingly; his hands squeezing her parted thighs gently.

"Then what is it, sweetheart?" he asks mildly, and buries his nose just under her ear, "why did you tell me to stop?"

One of his hands – and it is hard for Leia to ascertain which one under the ever-consuming haze of impossible arousal – inches upwards slowly, back towards the juncture of her thighs. Leia's surprised gasps turn into short pants as Han's tongue decides to join the onslaught on her poor senses.

"I-I just can't," she tries, but her breath catches in her throat as Han's mouth reaches her collarbone, "I c-can't… _finish_ with you, with you…l-looking."

She feels his smug smirk against her skin and blushes, this time in irritation; thinking that the man may be too satisfied with himself for his own good. Begrudgingly, though, she has to admit that the 'dashing captain' has certainly earned the right to be smug; at least in everything regarding the providing of pleasure.

Han kisses his way back to her ear, and Leia shudders when his hot breath caresses her skin.

"Shame," he sighs and moves to kiss her cheek, "I _really_ wanted to watch you come." Then his head disappears from her view and his, "better luck next time," is muffled by skin and cloth as he moves to settle back between her parted thighs.

Leia's eyes widen in astonishment, and she gapes in disbelief. The gall of this man! To just assume– that she will- the…the _impudence_!

"W-what," she begins shakily as he resumes his ministrations; his skilled mouth and finger at her service. The glorious tightening is back almost instantly, and Leia finds it difficult to formulate coherent thoughts, let alone voice them. She tries to speak, her breath short, "w-what on – _ah_ – Hoth makes – _ahh_ – you think that-that – _H-Han, oh_ – t-that – _oh, oh, I-I'm-!_ "

She trembles and shakes with the force of her release; her hands gripping the sheets on the bunk with enough force to tear at them. Han disentangles himself from her and leans back against the closed door, his knees bent and spaced apart. Leia slides from the bed, somehow managing to pull up her pants in the process, and comes to rest between Han's legs. Both are breathing heavily and staring at each other, but Han is the first to act. He reaches over to touch Leia's lips, his wet finger tracing the outline of her mouth. Leia leans in and kisses him tentatively on the lips, spreading her palms on his chest. After a moment's hesitation, Han pulls her impossibly close to him and kisses her torridly and with a hint of desperation.

After a brief episode of inner struggle, Leia's hands move to Han's pants, fumbling slightly with the buttons. One of his hands closes on one of her wrists, and he breaks away from the kiss to look down at what she's doing.

"You really don't have to, sweetheart," he says quietly, "this was about _you_."

Leia shakes her head, suddenly emboldened, and waits for Han's eyes to return to her face.

"I want to." She says simply, somewhat surprised at how honest her reply is, and his eyes widen before he gives her a brief nod, releases her hand and leans back against the door.

When she does finally manage to open his pants, she doesn't peek or steals a glance at what awaits her there. She's way too embarrassed to even consider the possibility, so she opts to watch Han's reactions instead. His eyes are closed and his mouth slightly parted; a faint blush settling in his cheeks. Leia finds this visage a little too arousing for her liking, alarmed at what her reaction to this ridiculously handsome man might mean. She touches him tentatively, and Han's brows crease, a strangled groan making it past his lips. Leia bends down to kiss him again on a whim, and his eager reciprocation threatens to reignite the fire in the pit of her stomach.

Her touch is clumsy, inexperienced, and her hand tires quickly, but it doesn't really matter. Han wraps his fingers around her aching hand and makes quick work of the job for her; with her. He pushes his face into the crook of her neck when he comes, grunting her name in a strangled breath. When it's over, she lifts her hand to her face and studies the result of their joined effort in fascination while Han is busy catching his breath and rearranging himself. Leia wipes her hand on her pants and settles down beside the smuggler. He turns to her, his fingers brushing her arm and she shivers.

The pleasing haze of alcohol that accompanied their carnal activities is slowly leaving their system, allowing doubts and even a touch of something akin to guilt to seep in and try and poison the experience. Reality crawls back into the cabin, and Leia's face burns at the sudden recollection of where Han's mouth's just been and what she did with her now slightly shaking hand. She feels Han's fingers brushing her knee and she tenses involuntarily.

"Alright, Princess?" he asks, and Leia thinks that she can detect a hint of anxiety in his voice.

She looks at his face, and he's frowning, clearly anticipating the worse. Somewhere in the left region of Leia's chest, below tissue and blood and bone, _something_ constricts painfully enough for her to acknowledge that she almost certainly has feelings for this man. He's dreading her answer, this much is certain; already convinced of her remorse and relapse in her attitude towards him. With a shocking jolt, she realizes that disappointing this man or wounding him with the prickly exterior she's been donning like an armor around him for the past three years, is no longer an option; _she cares_.

"I'm fine," Leia answers, with growing confidence; and because she's just magnanimous like that, she adds, "You were right, Han; It was very…relaxing."

His whole face transforms at her answer, the frown lines making way for a lovely smile that makes him appear as young as Luke. She fully expects the smug lopsided grin that befits her confession, but Han manages to surprise her yet again; his whole manner is open, soft and pleased, a far cry from his usual sarcastic, roguish self.

"Good," he says and leans back against the door, "glad I could be of service, Your Lusciousness."

She can hear the satisfied smile in his voice, and when she turns away from him, blushing prettily, she's smiling too.

They sit in comfortable silence for some time when Han clears his throat purposely.

"Hey, Leia," he says, and she turns to him, staring at his profile, "I figured I'd stay…with the Alliance, I mean…so, you know; I'm staying."

Leia bites her lower lip and smiles, because _finally_ , and Han moves to face her and the look in his eyes is _everything_. She's still a tad restless, still somewhat anxious about the forthcoming mission; but light and fondness blossom in her belly, unstoppable and expanding, and with a soft, warm voice and a look of appreciation that's reflected in his eyes, she says –

"You better."


End file.
